Artyom considered to himself what exactly happened to his masterplan, what kind of monkey wrench thrown into his carefully crafted machinations led to the currently indescribable situation. He had prepared to fight against Tommy’s battle harem, which ended up turning into a fight against the Dark Lord’s elite kill team instead. He’d turned the tables on them and killed them back, but now there was an invincible, divine, flying snake monster tearing up the cathedral, eating everyone, and just making an utter mess of things.
Perhaps it was not catching the priests of the evil goddess chanting menacingly in an unintelligible language that led to all of this? Too bad, Artyom might never find out for sure.
Artyom regarded the massive winged serpent wreaking destruction through the not so holy building. With the kill team’s archer’s instant-death arrow not even scratching the beast’s scales, he was beginning to feel worried. Especially with his phone acting on the fritz, separating him from the rest of TOAL and any chance at immediate backup.
The creature dove onto one of the older priests, running him through with its fang. The priest, in a desperate attempt at clinging to life, cast what looked like a healing spell on the gaping hole in his chest. He smiled as the magic surrounded the injury, but his happiness soon turned to dread as his magic refused to take hold. He promptly collapsed.
With another victim in a long line, Artyom decided it was finally time to do something about this mess.
“Neitra,” began Artyom. “You there?”
“I’m here,” she replied, suddenly appearing next to him. Her voice was tense, as she regarded the reptilian monstrosity’s path of destruction. “What’s going on, and what is that thing?”
“Looks like some kind of horrific divine winged serpent that’s eating everyone,” casually replied Artyom, too stupefied with fear to properly react.
“Why aren’t we saving them?” asked Neitra. Her vocal cords were beginning to constrict, in utter contrast to Artyom’s laid-back repose. “The innocent priests are getting eaten by that monster!”
“Well to be fair, they’re the ones who summoned it in the first place to kill us.”
“It doesn’t matter if they summoned it, maybe they didn’t know it’d attack… wait, kill us? You mean us two?”
“Yup,” he replied nonchalantly, his eyes still fixed on the rampaging beast.
“But why? We’re working with the hero to save the Kingdom from the Dark Lord, why would they want to kill us?” she asked, sounding more concerned than ever before.
“So you know how back in that cave I told you that I joined Tommy to make sure he was being treated properly, as well as why I was doing so, right?”
Neitra nodded.
“Well as it turns out, history repeats itself. The prophecy’s bunk, I figured it out, and now the goddess wants to kill us both for getting in her way.”
Neitra looked at him long and hard, trying to digest the tactical nuke he just dropped on her unprepared. She spent several seconds working through the dozens of questions befitting the revelation, but narrowed it down to only the pertinent ones.
“Ok, why do you think the prophecy’s false, why is the Goddess trying to kill you for it, and why is she also trying to kill me too?” all but sputtered Neitra. “The Goddess is good, she wouldn’t do any of this!”
The serpent tore through another pillar to get to a priest hiding behind it. Neitra tried to dash towards him, but Artyom held her in place with a firm arm on her shoulder. The falling rubble killed the man before she would’ve made it.
“You heard the head priest’s speech to that thing before it started tearing up the place, right? ‘The Goddess has sent you to rid the world of this interloper!’ and then he pointed to me. Why do you think the same guy asked both of us to stay put here while Tommy’s safely inside the undead-infested crypt?”
“But that would mean they tried to kill us!” Neitra all but shouted, the truth finally beginning to dawn on her. “Why does the Goddess want to kill us?!” Thin streaks of tears began to stream down her eyes, her entire worldview beginning to crumble.
“I know what you’re feeling right now,” replied Artyom, his hand tightening gently around her shoulder. “Realizing that your entire life is a lie is one of the worst feelings imaginable.” He took a deep breath, his mind going back to an old, empathetic memory. “But right now, there’s a terrible monster that’s going to realize we exist in a minute and go for us next. If we run away now, it might go after Tommy and his girlfriends might not be able to protect him. We need to survive until we can get him out of danger, or kill this thing here and now. Will you help me?”
Neitra took a few seconds to compose herself, deep breaths and snarling coughs pushing away the tears and constricting throat. “I’ll help,” she hoarsely whispered. “What should we do?”
Artyom smiled, the fact that he had at least one ally by his side bringing back some semblance of hope. Still, hope alone wouldn’t be enough to kill this divine monstrosity.
“Alright, I’m going to be honest,” said Artyom. “I have no idea how to kill that thing.”
Neitra jerked her head towards him in surprise.
“But I know where we can start. I have a couple of ideas on what we can try, but it’ll involve getting close to that thing. The big beastie’s pretty fast, and I bet it can see through your rogue stealth. Do you think you can play keep-away from it?”
She shook her head after some careful consideration.
“Good, you’re honest. We can’t let pride get in the way when we’re fighting for our lives. I remember reading about something just like this in the reference book back at the library, the one that told us to come here? I skipped most of the details, but there could be something in the book that could give us a hint on how to beat this thing.”
“I’ll have to run all the way back to the teleport crystal and then the library, do you think you can hold on until I…”
Artyom reached into his bag and pulled out the book, handing it to Neitra.
“Wait, where’d you get this? Did you buy it during your day off? No wait, this is the same book! Did you steal this from the library?!”
“Yeah, I figured it would be useful.”
“Artyom, you stole a library book! I thought you were working with us against the Dark Lord!”
“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Artyom, confused.
“You stole a library book, Artyom!” she repeated. “And that’s terrible!”
“Compared to everything the Dark Lord and the Goddess have done?!” asked Artyom back, utterly indignant. “Besides, that book wasn’t even theirs. The Goddess’ agents obviously dropped it off the day we arrived at Sandy Cove, anyway. That’s why there aren’t any library stickers or labels on it. Besides, it’s not like I stole 40 cakes or something.” He quickly looked away from Neitra after laying out his carefully worded defense, definitely not too embarrassed to continue the conversation.
Neitra considered Artyom’s excuse with a pout, before nodding her head and running out of one of the large holes in the cathedral’s walls and taking cover some distance away. With a sigh of relief, Artyom turned to face the supposed avatar of the goddess’ wrath, glad that he could finally fight it instead of being flayed by Neitra. Guilty conscience? What’s that?
“Alright Artyom, time to figure this out with a bit of science. That’s what the eggheads always say when they find something they don’t know. Step one of the scientific method; ask a question. So, how the fuck do I kill this thing?” He began walking deeper into the cathedral, taking note of his surroundings and making sure his battle spells were still active. His auras would be useless against this primal killing machine.
“Step one and a half; perform research. The priests summoned this thing on behalf of the goddess, and a laundry list of Skills that would’ve killed someone like me didn’t do a thing against it. On the other hand, the head priest said that the level System was also created by the goddess, so it would make sense that she would make her killer pet immune to her own weapons. On further thought, it also explains why the system is so hand-holdy since it has to cater to people who are dumbed down by the taint, which now that I think about it, is also probably the goddess’ fault. No, focus! Now’s not the time to be solving all of those mysteries.”
With most of the clergy dead, the winged serpent finally regarded Artyom with an intelligent glare filled with primal loathing. With a disgusting roar, the creature charged at him in a blindingly fast slither-glide. Artyom was already moving before it had finished its battle-cry, narrowly avoiding the charge despite all of the time its windup had given him.
“Step two; come up with a hypothesis. Alright, I have a couple so I’ll try them out one at a time. The goddess’ skills were dampened by the beryllium bronze alloy and this thing was also made by the goddess. My shield might also be able to affect it.”
The snake had already recovered from slamming into a pillar and bared its fangs again before making a second charge. This time, Artyom located his shield on the ground surrounded by rubble and dodged towards it, grabbing the slab of metal in a roll before coming back up.
“Step 3; testing! Here we go!” Artyom shouted as he got the serpent’s attention once more, instigating another charge against him with a rude gesture. As the monster dashed in a straight line, Artyom moved out of the way just enough that he was still able to smash his shield into the streaking figure. He could’ve sworn sparks came out where the shield’s spikes made contact with the serpent’s scales, but it passed by much too quickly for him to tell for sure.
What he was sure of however, was that the scales that made contact were entirely unmarred by damage. Not even a microscopic scratch flawed its divinely perfect armor. Looking at the bent and worn down spikes on his shield, Artyom signed in resignation. The magic-nullifying material didn’t do a thing against the serpent.
The snake turned to Artyom, finally having had enough of him. Before he could think up another plan, it opened up its wings to their full splendor, projecting a prismatic corona that rivaled that of the World’s sun. Between the multicolored sparkles, Artyom caught flashes of movement, realizing what the monster was doing just in time.
One of its yellow-white feathers came flying at Artyom, who barely stepped out of the way in time for it to fly by and embed itself into the floor, throwing shards of the diorite tiles into the air. One of those shards struck Artyom in the side. It didn’t hurt, but it was distracting. Which was especially problematic because that wasn’t the only feather. A deluge of prismatic plumage thundered at him at preposterous speeds, making Artyom’s eyes widen in shock as his mind and magic worked overtime to deflect the keratin shards.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Despite knocking most of them out of the way, plenty still made it through and began striking Artyom. Unlike the berserkers’ battleaxe, these bolts had the same force concentrated into a much smaller point and pierced his armor. Artyom winced in pain as one, two, half a dozen feathers made it through his defenses, piercing his skin and drawing blood despite the additional magic on his skin.
The serpent let loose another terrible scream as a shock of white began travelling from its wings across the feathers in flight, jumping from one to the next as it made its way to Artyom. From the overwhelming residual power given off by the attack, he knew that whatever magic was being carried in that arcing bolt could be the end of him if it struck.
“No. Not here, not like this,” he whispered out loud.
From the perspective of the survivors watching the snake’s ranged assault, Artyom’s limbs were moving as a blur, knocking away one feather to the next, beyond anything humanly possible yet still ultimately lacking. The next moment, his limbs all but disappeared. In their place were ripples in the air that did their job for him, blowing the projectiles out of the way like a typhoon tossing a host of angels. Artyom’s face was a mix of placidity and rigid focus as the magic battery on his arm began to glow a brighter blue.
“Photonic Pathfinder,” he said in his mind as he began draining magic at a dramatically higher rate to power his new speed spell. The bolt of magic was about to finally make contact after its journey, but Artyom was no longer there when it made landfall.
The snake hadn’t let its eyes off of him, however, and slightly shifted its deluge of feathers to the left, then to the right. It still wasn’t fast enough to catch Artyom. Then, its eyes widened as it shifted its assault upwards. The more diligent observer would’ve seen shifts in the trajectory of the airborne feathers, starting farther away and getting closer and closer to the beast. Between the milliseconds, beyond the realm the human mind dares to tread, Artyom continued his way closer to the creature.
One foot on a feather, several more gently eased out of his way, a powerful jump and onto another. Bit by bit, he made his way. Excruciatingly slow to him, but within the realm of an instant to everyone else.
Soon, he was upon and above the winged serpent, who had aimed its barrage at the sky in the vain attempt at striking its target. Artyom appeared to stand still for several seconds as the feathers aimed at him only served as a platform to keep him airborne. With as much warning as he’d given when he’d first casted the spell, he disappeared again with nothing but a cocksure smirk, this time heralding a rockslide made up of the remnants of the ceiling the keratin assault had destroyed. The newly created boulders smashed into the monster’s head and body as the constant rhythm of two-ton impacts forced it to the ground, burying it under the consequence of its own carelessness and hubris. It thrashed against its rocky prison with only little effect. The sun shone down on the partially buried figure through the new opening, as if to proclaim the superior righteousness of its own kaleidoscopic beams.
Artyom landed on the ground a safe distance away from the creature, sliding to a halt without the aid of his arms to keep his balance. It was time to test out the next possible weakness while it was pinned.
“Onto the next hypothesis, then. The feathers come off pretty easily, unlike the scales. Let’s see if those wings are a weak point.” Artyom dashed towards one of the creature’s wings, now held in place by the rockfall.
On closer inspection, the feathered mass was essentially just that; feathers. He grabbed at a bunch and pulled. Unlike the ones launched at him, these feathers were as soft as any other birds’ plumage, and gave way almost immediately. As they were pulled off, another set of feathers immediately began to grow out of the hole and fill the gap simultaneously. Artyom began tugging at them faster and harder, and then switching to his shield’s side spikes to increase the pace. No matter how quickly and forcefully he ripped at the wing, every single feather grew back immediately with no sign of slowing down.
The snake, of course, had caught on to what he was trying to do, and began to channel its magic into its wing. Artyom was forced to jump back when the white, moted glow began to jump across the wing towards him. With that hypothesis a bust, he made his way back to where he last talked with Neitra, hoping she’d have discovered something inspiring in the book.
“Hey Neitra, you there?” asked Artyom. “Found any weaknesses yet?”
“I’m here,” she shouted back, cautiously making her way out of cover. “There’s nothing in the book about the Goddess’ Divine Serpent’s weaknesses, and I’ve already read its chapter twice. Why would the Goddess advertise her own weaknesses anyway? She’s all powerful.”
“Well, not powerful enough to kill us,” retorted Artyom. “Did you at least find anything interesting? I’m running out of ideas.”
“Well, there’s one thing that I found a little weird.” She flipped the page and traced her finger down the text before continuing. “One part of the chapter talks about its wings never running out of feathers because they always grow back. Thanks to a powerful regenerative effect, or something like that.”
“Yup, I’ve seen it for myself. I thought it would be its weak point, but I can’t get through the feathers since new ones grow back the very instant I pull one out. No delay, or anything.”
She nodded before continuing. “But one of the other sections talks about its venom and how it can stop any and all healing whether natural or magical, so even if someone were to get away, if they were bitten they’d eventually die because their body would no longer be able to heal from any kind of injury, even really tiny ones from day-to-day life. So what happens if it bites its own wings?”
Artyom’s eyes lit up in inspiration. “Hmm, the old shield-spear paradox.”
“What’s that?” asked Neitra.
“There’s this old story about some blacksmith selling a shield that could block any attack and a spear that could pierce any defense.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s a paradox. How can both exist at the same time?”
“I don’t know, how can they?”
“They can’t. So let’s see which one breaks first!” shouted Artyom, as he charged back at the reptilian monstrosity, which was finally beginning to free itself from its stone prison.
The serpent threw off the last of the rubble from it in a single glorious motion, righting itself back to its splendorous form, and letting out another blood-curdling roar. Before it could launch another barrage of feathers or make another charge, Artyom was already back at its wing, tugging at the mass of feathers with all of his strength. The creature stood there for a moment, trying to comprehend its enemy’s novel strategy, before getting bored and flicking him off with a single wingbeat.
Artyom landed on the floor in an undignified manner, leaving an imprint on the tiles in the vague shape of his body. He got up, brushing bits of debris from his armor, realizing that the serpent probably wasn’t stupid enough to bite its own wing. Time for a change of plans, then.
The monster glared right at him, spreading its wings wide and baring its fangs. The gleam coming from them both gave him an idea. Artyom looked around the cathedral, moving his eyes over a pile of splinters from a row of smashed pews until he found a mostly-intact shard of wood. With a smile, he picked it up and looked at the creature, before charging into a mad dash.
“Hypothesis; its own poison should be able to stop its wings from regenerating,” he began as another torrent of feathers volplaned towards him. Refocusing the flow of magic into Photonic Pathfinder once more, he easily made his way through the keratin storm, seemingly disappearing and reappearing at various points through the flash flood of plumage, ever closer to his target.
Once he was near enough, the serpent was forced to stop its assault lest it hit itself. It tried to bite down on Artyom, but stopped once it realized that its prey was trying to jump into its mouth instead. Before it could close its jaws around the miserable human, Artyom shouted another spell, channeling his magic into its top left fang.
“Purge Toxins!” shouted Artyom, forcing his magic into the beast and causing a stream of venom to fall from its fang and drip onto the wooden stake in his hand. With his makeshift weapon thoroughly coated, he jumped away before the serpent could bite down on him.
“What’s wrong, buddy? Can’t hold your load?” joked Artyom, taking his first chance to banter with the monster that may or may not have understood him. “Don’t worry, I’m sure a lot of abominations have the same problem!”
The monster scanned the room carefully for Artyom’s whereabouts, trying to scour out the source of the insult, when it felt a prick on its left plumage. At least, only for an instant, then the pain subsided. Along with any and all sense of feeling within that wing. The snake quickly looked at its feathered limb and the source of the strange feeling, and saw Artyom clawing his way through it.
“Step 3, testing! Let’s fuck some shit up!” he shouted as he wrenched armfuls of feathers off of the monster. At first, new feathers began to regrow in place of the old ones, but the rate at which they were regenerating slowed, and it eventually reached a total standstill. Artyom continued digging farther and farther into its wing, leaving a small, human-sized tunnel as he tore his way into the serpent’s main body.
Once he reached the connecting point between its armored and plumed parts, he found no scales in the way, just a shiny gray mass of flesh. With a heaving punch, backed up with all the force he could muster from Strength of the Tsunami, Artyom delivered a wicked shockwave into the vulnerable soft tissue as black ichor came spewing out between chunks of meaty giblets. The monster roared once again, but this time in agony. Too bad for it, Artyom wasn’t done. Not by a longshot.
With laser-focus, he began to channel Sonic Waverider once more alongside the super strength and D-U Dermal Armor as he transformed his body into a human drill, ripping, tearing, and utterly eviscerating the creature’s insides as he dug his way into its body. The snake wailed an ear-splitting shriek as it flailed around in a futile attempt to remove the flesh-intruder. It continued, even trying to fly into the air with its one working wing in one last desperate bid at saving itself, but as it haphazardly reached the hole in the ceiling, it stopped fluttering. With one final scream to utter its own epitaph, it plummeted towards the ground.
The impact threw diorite gravel and wood splinters across the entire cathedral, bringing a final note of ruin to the already ravaged building. The dust settled, and even Neitra peeked inside to see what happened. After more than many emotionally grueling moments, something shifted inside of the abomination’s one open wound. Out crawled an insignificant figure, drained of all but the tiniest scrap of magic and completely covered in gore.
“And step 5, analysis,” Artyom weakly whispered to himself. “Yup, it’s fucking dead,” he let out with a tired smile before he promptly collapsed.
“Artyom, are you alright?” shouted Neitra, as she ran towards her fallen comrade.
“I just want to be pure,” he replied, trying to push himself to his knees.
Not understanding the reference, Neitra grabbed at Artyom’s arm and slowly helped him back to his feet, entirely disregarding the blood and viscera she was getting onto her own clothes.
“Thanks,” replied Artyom, catching his breath. “I’m going to need to eat enough food for an army after that. Well then, it’s time to get out of here. I should be able to make it to the town’s teleport crystal without any assistance.”
“Wait, why are you leaving?” asked Neitra, shocked and confused.
He regarded her for a patient second before replying. “As soon as Tommy and the others come back and everyone sees all of the dead priests, those ladies with him are going to say that we’re the ones who killed them and do us in before we get the chance to explain ourselves. I’m not sticking around for that, or whatever else they decide to throw at me even if we do survive. So come on, let’s get out of here.”
Neitra looked at him worriedly. “Hold on, but why…”
“So you took out the Dark Lord’s Kill Team and whatever this monstrosity is, huh? Good on you,” interrupted someone from behind Neitra. She turned around and immediately pulled out her dagger while assuming a combat stance and a deep scowl.
“Woah, hold on Neitra! He’s a friend!” shouted Artyom, trying to mollify her quickly before any more blood would be spilled.
“Friend?!” she shouted back, not taking her eyes off of the dark-robed man who meandered his way around her towards Artyom. “He’s one of the Dark Lord’s assassins! They’ve tried to kill you twice now, how is he a friend?!”
“Because I’m not his friend,” replied Rugul, who had a casual look on his face despite keeping his distance from Neitra’s blade. “I’m his employee. And I just got back from doing my job, thank you very much.”
Neitra, still ready to kill at a moment’s notice, looked at the two slack jawed. “Wait, what’s going on…”
“So I looked around Heart’s Point like you asked me to, and I found something pretty interesting,” continued Rugul, heedless of Neitra’s presence.
“Like what?” asked Artyom, still too drained and hungry from the fight to acknowledge her question either.
“Well, after looking into the history of the town, I was able to discover a particular spot that everyone was taught to avoid. Not like they needed to be told either, because something about that place simply drove people away from it. Of course, with my assassin training and all, I was able to resist the effect and took a look around.”
“Well, did you find anything there?” asked Artyom impatiently, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“I take it you don’t have a sense for drama? I was just getting there, before I was so rudely interrupted.”
Artyom just glared daggers at him.
“Ok, fine. I found a plaque with a riddle carved into it. Don’t know what the answer is, but here’s a copy of it I wrote down.” Rugul handed a piece of paper over to Artyom and he began reading.
“The good follow it, while the wicked shun it. For countless aeons, it is the foundation that all structure has been built on. It may be made by commandment, but its true form is resolute. It is the essence of ‘ought’ and is fulfilled by ‘shall’. Of my domains, this is what I truly embody.”
“So, what do you think?” asked Rugul. “Any idea what the answer is?”
After perusing the paper for a few more seconds, Artyom looked back up at the assassin. “Nope, no idea. At least not yet, I need to grab a bite to eat first before…”
“That’s it!” shouted Neitra, interrupting Artyom’s train of thought. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some real answers!”
“I already told you, Neitra,” replied Artyom. “Rugul is an employee. I killed all of the assassins at the hotel except for him, and got him to sign an employment contract to work for me instead.”
“No, not just that. I’m going to be honest now, Artyom, because you’re not. After seeing all of these shady things that you’re involved in, I don’t think I can trust you.”
Artyom looked at her wide-eyed, before finally forming a response. “Look, Neitra. I understand what you’re going through. Nobody wakes up expecting to have their entire worldview shattered in a single morning, and it can be hard, but…”
“That’s the thing. Can I really believe that? Think about it, who am I more likely to trust; the Goddess and prophecy I was raised as a child to believe, or the guy who showed up out of nowhere a week ago after having stolen the key piece we were after, working with one of the Dark Lord’s assassins, and had a bunch of priests who were helping the hero declare him an enemy? Well? What would you trust in my position?”
“...Neitra, I’m sure if you take a second to…”
“No, Artyom. You’re going to tell me right now. The Divine Serpent is dead and I don’t see any other kill teams headed our way. So if you want me to come with you, spill the beans. Now.”
“Well, where are you going to go, then?” asked Rugul, half-jokingly. “If what Artyom here says is true, then everyone on both sides of the border are going to want you dead, just like me!”
“Well, I’ll go somewhere else then,” replied Neitra, not trying to pay the assassin any additional attention. Despite her face trying to contort into a singularity, she forced on a stoic expression to cover up her feelings on everything falling apart. “Or maybe I’ll stay here and try to tell Tommy everything that’s happened, even at the risk of my own life. It’s the right thing to do, he needs to know.”
Artyom looked down, a mix of powerful emotions surging through his mind. He didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, it looked like. He could leave her, he didn’t need her help anymore. It would be simple, just walk to the teleportation crystal, think of literally any town and she would be unable to follow. If she leaves, he’ll never see her again and if she stays here, she’ll just get killed before she can do anything to help or hurt. With a final sigh, Artyom slowly turned his head and stared right into her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Neitra.” He took a deep breath as he fished out a nutritional bar from his bag, unwrapped it, and took a bite. “The truth is, I’m also from Earth.”